


Do the Paper Birds Sing?

by Shorknado



Category: Metal Gear, Metal Gear Solid
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, More tags eventually, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-26 12:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17141531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorknado/pseuds/Shorknado
Summary: Ocelot and Kazuhira knew each other for nine years before Big Boss returned to their lives.Nine years is a long time to wait.





	1. Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Aw yea finally pumped out some ocielhira content. As much as i love writing vkaz my fave mgs ship is ocielhira

The first time Ocelot officially met Kazuhira Miller was only four short months after the fall of MSF. 

He had seen him before of course. Every time he infiltrated Mother Base to talk to Snake he would see Miller hard at work with a stack of papers or on the phone with a client. He never approached him directly, of course. 

He knew Miller was a spy. Or at least he wasn't being completely honest in his co-operation with Snake. Not that he could blame the man too much. Most people are not honest with Boss, himself included. 

At the very least he knew Miller's dealings weren't entirely against Snake and their operation. It was bureaucratic ladder climbing, a way for MSF to assert itself into the world powers. For the life of him, he could never figure out who exactly Miller had been working with. He knew it was someone that wanted Snake's abilities at all costs, some organization that worked covertly through proxy after proxy. Neigh untraceable without proper connections.

He always told Snake not to trust Miller. To be careful not to put too much faith in that silver tounge or charm. 

Snake didn't heed his warning, the Peace Walker incident almost destroyed the world, and Miller spilled his guts to Snake in the end. 

More importantly he learned who Kaz was working woth; Zero. Figures it would be him that wanted Snake on his side so bad. And if Zero was involved then surly Cipher would be on his trail. 

Ocelot regrets not being able to warn Snake about Cipher before the Ground Zeros incident. Maybe he could have saved him, saved the other soldiers on the base. 

He couldn't look back and regret. The only thing he could have offered then was a simple heads up. Cipher would have gotten them eventually and torn their base to shreds the second he got the chance. 

At least Snake was safe. Despite their differences Zero would do anything to keep Snake alive. Anything to see through his interpretation of the Boss's will. Snake and his double will be safe as long as he can complete his mission. 

And thats where Kazuhira Miller comes in.

 

When he met him, officially, Miller looked surprisingly happy to see him. Zero had said the man sounded absolutely put out at the thought of working with him, a spy and man that knew Snake better than he did. 

But when he sat next to him at that nondescript cafè in Holland Miller was the picture of polite and charismatic. Despite the bright smile, Ocelot could see the way the past weighed on him. In his voice, the way his tone shifted at the mention of MSF. Ocelot cound see the saddness and deep, deep rage that hid below the surface of his words.

Miller was happy, even excited to work with him. Excited to rebuild what he had lost. Excited to...redeem himself. When Miller smiled and told him he couldn't wait to see him again, Ocelot suddenly knew why Snake trusted Miller so deeply. 

It took him his entire train ride back to Russia for him to realize he had be utterly charmed by that man, and he couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed by the fact. As much as he hated to admit it, he liked Miller a lot. 

He was ambitious, cunning, and charismatic. A dangerous combination. Ocelot wasn't going to trust Miller yet, but he was...intrigued by him. 

Any following correspondence with Miller for the next year was entirely professional, and mostly anonymous on his part. Anything from job offers to weather reports for the next week. Miller kept buisness well and Ocelot nudged him in the right direction in his downtime. It was a good system, and when the time was right they would bring MSF back from the dead. 

But now wasn't just going to offer assistance from the sidelines. He was going to be a full fledged member of Millers operation until the dust of his former job settled a bit. That meant an undisclosed amount of time working with and around the militia for the next year or so.

He wasn't about to admit he was excited verbally. The assignment was a nice change from the last few years of slow infiltration of boring bureaucratic ranks and stuck up,naive people just to poison a man and get three envelopes worth of information on political black market dealings. The fast changing world on the battlefield was alluring in a familar but new way. 

And Miller looked much better than any political figurehead in Middle Europe. 

Speaking of, Ocelot finally sees the bright blond hair amidst two brunets in vaugly militarist uniforms loitering around a pair of covered trucks parked just outside of the small village. Just im time, since he was tired of carrying this duffle bag filled with cocaine.

He stops a few feet away from the vehicles and watches Miller slide off the hood and walk towards him with a smile. He no longer had a MSF patch on his jacket, and his scarf was loose from it's usual knot. 

"Hey, Ocelot right? Good to see you made it it in one piece." He says cheekily. The bright sun glinted off his glasses and Ocelot could see his own reflection in the lenses.  

"Yes, my name is still Ocelot. And the trip was just fine." He replies and starts towards the two trucks. Miller falling in stride next to him. 

"Central Europe is a long way from South West Africa."

"You flew in from Columbia."

Miller laughs at that, taking the light threat of his knowledge of the others movement without hesitation. 

"Either way we're all here now! Set you bag over there." Miller points to another bag sitting unassumingly in the shade between the two trucks. Cleverly hidden away from view of the main road and small village. 

He sets his bag down, and introduces himself to the other soldiers. Armadillo and Osprey. Twins, apparently. 

Miller crouches down near the bags and draws a rough map in the sandy dirt. 

"Ok so you two," He points to Armadillo and Osprey, "will be taking truck one towards the costline near the Angola border. You'll meet our employers at a checkpoint a few miles from the coast. I marked it on your map. After you do that hightale it back to our base camp."

The two nod, and after a quick game of rock paper scissors Osprey takes the bag he brought and they hop in the truck and take off north east. 

Miller kicks the dirt map away and picks up the other duffle bag with ease, "You and me are crossing into Angola and dropping our bag off at roadblock fourteen miles into the country. Along with all this," 

Miller opens the truck door and Ocelot raises an eyebrow at the cache of guns and boxes of ammunition. Miller tosses the bag into the back as if its a sack of potatos and rounds the front to get into the drivers side. Ocelot gets into the passenger seat, buckling up. He racks his brain trying to find something to say as Miller starts the truck and the drive off vaugly northward. 

"How long is this trip?"

Miller grins, "Don't like car rides?"

Ocelot shrugs, he wasn't a big fan of long ones. Especially out in the middle of nowhere. 

"They're ok."

"We have about six hours ahead, assuming we don't run into trouble."

Ocelot sighs and leans back. He didn't feel safe enough with Miller to sleep in front of him. Especially in place where bodies could easily be dumped out of a vehicle going 80 to never be seen again. Instead he gazes out the window at the red desert passing them. It was very beautiful out there, he could appriciate that. 

"What's in the bag?" Ocelot asks after an hour of silent driving. Interrupted only by Miller flipping through the radio and finding just static every fifteen minutes. 

"33 pounds of cocain. Same as yours."

"Then why did it have a blue tag instead of a red one. Not much point of they're the same." 

He sees Miller's eyebrows twitch into small frown. Its always harder to read people with sunglasses on, but he can see the little details. Miller was hiding something. 

"Alright, alright. I've been told to trust you. And so far you haven't lead us wrong." Miller says in an incredibly resigned tone. 

Ocelot perks up a bit, happy to hear Miller does trust him a bit. However reluctant. 

"So this little base camp we have isn't big. Like, twelve of us as you know. And yeah we've been smuggling drugs and weapons for the conflict at the moment but well..."

Miller pauses, gesticulating with a hand, "Hidden in one of these bags of cocain is a couple thousand dollars worth of diamonds in a fake brick. I don't know which bag it's in. Neither do Armadillo or Osprey. We deliver the bags and they take care of it."

Ocelot nods, suddenly feeling very, very, uneasy.

"I've heard rumors about the diamond trade here," Ocelot says, carefully choosing his words, "How true are they?"

He had tipped Miller off to this region for the growing civil combat. Easy work for groups like them, he expects drug running and weapon transport. He didn't expect Miller to participate in the diamond buisness.

Miller's gloved hands subtly tighten on the steering wheel and his jaw clenchs. A nervous tic.

"It's not...as bad as you've heard. At least not yet. But the writings on the wall. This is quick, easy money. They've been using them to help fund their militias and wars. The diamonds we may be carrying are paying for the guns too."

Ocelot nods, this is interesting information on the politics of this area. Miller had a keen eye for trends and could keep ahead of the curves, he wouldn't make any stupid mistakes. 

"Right now these diamonds are good for us. About as safe as the drugs and weapons that is. But as soon as the civil war here is done and more powerful people see how much these rocks are worth," Miller looks at Ocelot, an expression of profound seriousness on his face, "Its going to get bad, Ocelot. Its going to be a damn blood bath."

Ocelot looks at his reflection in Miller's shades, and doesn't doubt the mans words. 

"You aren't going to keep this...diamond buisness up when it gets to that point right? Boss needs us-"

"Of course I'm not!" Miller's sudden shift in volume startles him a bit. And he feels the car jolt to the left. 

Miller takes a slow breath, eyes forward, "We pull out as soon as it starts to get too dangerous. Until then, we make money. And we build our force. I know what Boss needs from me."

Ocelot stays quiet. He had never really mentioned Snake after their first meeting, it made sense Miller was still very emotional over the entire affair. He decides he isn't going to press the issue and turns to look out the window. 

Ocelot jerks up, checking his watch to see that he only nodded off for an hour or so. The sun was just past its highest point and beginning to lower. He also notices theres a bit of steam leaking out from under the hood. He's not very good with cars, but he's pretty sure anything coming out of the hood isn't a great sign. 

Miller pulls off to the side of the beaten dirt path that was only called a road because saying hard packed dirt from the two cars that might have driven here weeks ago was too long. He watches Miller get out and throw the hood open. Releasing a cloud of steam into the already hot air. With a sigh, Ocelot opens his door and steps out.

He stands next to Miller, looking down at the steaming collection of pipes as the other lifts his sunglasses slightly to glare at them. Miller sighs, strips off his jacket and throws it into the drivers window before grabbing his radio. 

"Osprey you there?" He asks as he rolls his short sleeves up more to create a makeshift tank top. Ocelot  indulges and admires the mans toned arms. 

"Car trouble, not too bad should just be an hour delay, but let your quarry know we might be late to the checkpoint."

An hour? In the hot sun in the middle of fuck all no where. With a truck load of guns, drugs, and diamonds. In the middle of a civil war. Excellent. 

He should have packed sunscreen. 

Miller returns to the front of the car and looks back into the engine, shaking his head in disappointment. 

"Is...it gonna be ok?" Ocelot asks, trying to sound like he knows anything about cars. 

"Yeah, engine was getting hot. Any further and it would have overheated and...well," Miller shrugs, moving to the shady side of the car and sitting down heavily, "We let it cool down, I'll make sure nothings fucked up too bad and then be on our way." 

Ocelot glances around, nothing but redish sand in every direction. They would be able to see anyone coming in a vehicle for miles. Should only have to worry about people on foot.

"Hey, Ocelot?" 

He looks down at Miller who was leaning against the side truck with his feet kicked out. The picture of relaxed. 

"Yes?"

"Why are you wearing spurs?"

Ocelot looks down at his spurs, they were getting a bit dull from all the sand and dust. He would have to clean them off soon. 

"Do you have a problem with them?" He asks, moving out of the sun and taking a seat next to Miller. 

"No, its just...kinda weird?" Miller shrugs and looks back out into the sands, "Aren't spurs a cowboy thing? Are there Russian cow boys?"

"I'm sure they exist out in Russia. It's a big place."

Miller snorts at that and shakes his head, "Kinda ruins the story I had for you."

He raises an eyebrow at that, "What story?"

"The SWAPO, our employers, don't take to kindly to Soviets. I was going to try and pass you off as French, but no French guy would wear spurs."

Ocelot looks sadly at his spurs, Miller was right about that. But he would rather die than pretend to be French.

"I can pass off as French just fine."

"Prove it."

He grins at Miller, and leans in slightly, "Pardon, où est la bibliothèque?"

Miller tilts his head and lets out a thoughtful hum, "Ok that was pretty bad. Actually it was unbelievably terrible. I feel bad for the language itself."

"I was born in France, y'know. I think my grasp of the language has a je ne sais quoi to it you wouldn't understand." Ocelot realizes too late that was a little, personal. He clears his throat and leans away, "Why can't I pretend to be American?"

If Miller had any reaction to his slip up he didn't show it, "Because I'm the American!"

"You're not even American."

"Doesn't matter. I look American. More than you do baguette boy."

Ocelot holds back a laugh, instead coughing into his hand. He tried to be offended at the childish insult. 

"Hate to break it to you Miller, but there are lot's of Americans out there. Its a big place."

Miller shakes his head and shrugs, "You'll see when we get there."

Ocelot rolls his eyes at the cryptic words, "I can stay in the truck during the transaction if my appearance will bother them that much."

Miller laughs and gets to his feet, dusting himself off, "I'm just giving you a hard time. You don't have an accent so I doubt they'll notice." 

Ocelot watches him walk to the front of the car and start tinkering under the hood. He can hear him humming softly before the slam of the hood drowns it out. Miller rounds the car, dusting off his hands as he walks, "Looks like we're good to go, should make it here and back to base without more troub-"

Miller cuts himself off and tilts his head. Staring at the ground infront of his boots. Ocelot looks down, wondering if he was going to say something about his spurs again. 

"What?" He asks as Miller silently approaches and crouches infront of him. 

He watches the man brush sand away from a small pebble before picking it up. Miller wipes the rest of the red dust away on Ocelots pants, revealing a dull cream colored surface. He's no geologist, but that looked to be a diamond. 

He looks up at Miller's face, it wore a pensive expression as he examined the sizable gem he seemingly materialized. 

"Well...ain't you a real diamond dog." Ocelot says with amusement. Gently taking the rock from Miller to look at, "Any idea what this is worth?"

Miller shrugs, standing up and running his hand through his hair in thought, "Depends on who we sell it to. Going rate here is about 6,000 per carat and I'm not sure how many that is. Probably three or four carats?"

Ocelot whistles in appreciation as he stands up. That was a pretty penny no doubt. He hands the diamond back to Miller and turns to open the passenger door, "That mean dinner is on you?"

He buckles up and Miller rounds the trucks and gets in the drivers side, "Not a chance."

Ocelot snorts, and digs around in his ammo pouch for one of the tapes he brought with him from Europe to use as a peace offering if the Mother Base soldiers didn't like him. 

"You listen to Queen"

"Not since I got here, why?"

Ocelot puts the tape in the player and turns the radio up, "I think you'll like this album." 

He watches a small smile emerge on Miller's face, and feels a strange warmth in his stomach. 

"Oh I love this album. Skip to Killer Queen." 

Miller taps his fingers to the tune, a small furrow in his brow. Ocelot wonders if its too forward to ask whar he's thinking about. 

"Do you think Diamond Dogs is a copyrighted term?" Miller asks suddenly after two songs worth of silence. 

"No, why?" Ocelot holds in a yawn, he almost fell asleep again. 

"What do you think of it as a name for our organization?"

He smiles softly at the use of the word our. Technically he was the co commander of Millers unite. But since most soldiers didn't realize he had been working with then since the early days of MSF it didn't feel like he was really apart of their organization at all. That small word made him feel genuinely included.

"It's pretty..." He pauses, deciding that calling a private military forces potential name cute was a bad move, "...good."

"Pretty good?" Miller replies skeptically, a semi pout forming on his face. 

"I mean its a good name. Short, recognizable, not French."

Miller shoots him a small, concealed glare, "I did not name MSF. That was Boss."

Ocelot often forget Boss spoke French. More of a purposeful move since hearing his rasp of a voice such a smooth language was unsettling. 

"Well better make it official before he wakes up and names it something worse." 

Miller laughs softly, a nice change from how he usually acted when conversation steered toward the Boss and his current predicament. 

"I'll get the name official then. Consider yourself a Diamond Dog!"

Ocelot looks out the window at the distant rolling hills. Another group to add to his roster of organizations he was infiltraiting. 

No. He wasn't infiltrating this time. This was for Boss, he wasn't betraying anyone. Not yet. 

"Oh hey we're here."

Ocelot perks up at that. He squints and can barely make out a small checkpoint ahead of them on the road. 

"They ain't gonna shoot at us are they?"

"Hope not."

Miller seems ill at ease so there shouldn't be too much to worry about. As they get closer Miller turns the radio off and slows to a stop at the first concrete barrier. Two men approach the truck, holding very menecing looking rifles. 

"Let's go!" Miller says cheerfully and grabs the duffle bag from the back before hopping out. With a sigh, Ocelot follows. If anything bad happened they had a decent amount of cover. He didn't know how well of a shot Miller was but he suspected the man could carry himself. 

"America! Good to see you safe!" One of the men says. He has a heavy accent and a fancy pin on his lapel. Must be the translator.

"Who's your friend?" The man asks, gesturing at Ocelot. 

"New recruit. He's shy so don't tease him too much."

Ocelot gives a polite nod to the translator. He's fine with being a fly on the wall for this transaction. Watch and learn.

Miller passes off the bag to the translator, who passes it to the soldier by his side. Ocelot watches the soldier turn away a bit and unzip the bag as Miller and the translator start to talk numbers. He takes that ooppertunity to look around the small check point. There only seemed to be three or four soldiers milling around on guard. The two temporary buildings didn't have any visible windows so he couldn't tell if more soldiers were inside. 

He turns his attention back to the transaction. The soldier seems to be satisfied with the bags contents and nods at the translator before shouldering the bag and walking towards the nearest hut. 

"Good job, America. Always very good." The man laughs and passes Miller a large envelope, "Now for the weapons."

\--

"Aww are you tired kitty?" The translator, apparently named Jawad, coos at him. 

Ocelot holds back the glare and curses he wanted to say and instead smiles at the man as good humored as he can when out of breath and drenched in sweat. 

"I guess you could say that."

Jawad laughs and hefts the last box of ammo into his arms, easilu carrying the heavy box towards the second makshift building. 

Ocelot wipes sweat off his brow and unbuttons his fatigue jacket. If any of the SWAPO recognized his telnyshka so be it. He refuses to die of hyperthermia due to his black uniform. 

Miller waltzs past him with two rifles over his shoulder, looking obnoxiously America and unbothered by the heat. 

"Ganbatte, Ocelot!" He calls over his shoulder. 

Ocelot flips him off before tying the jacket around his waist and grabbing the last rifle from the truck. Jawad holds the door open for him to deposit the weapon into the crate with four more of its kind. 

"We could have moved the truck closer, you know." He states bitterly as he exits the hot stuffy storage shed. 

"We did." Miller says, sipping from his canteen as if he didn't spend the last 15 minutes moving artillery. 

Ocelot pointedly looks at the truck parked 15 feet away. The back wasn't even facing the shed. Miller just smiles. 

"Here you go, Kitty." 

Before Ocelot can turn Jawad spends a full canteen of lukewarm water over his head. He can feel whatever hair that stayed slicked back despite the sweat fall forward onto his forhead as the water ran down the front of his tank top. 

Miller covers his mouth and looks away. Obviously choking down laughter. He almost wants to be back in Europe. 

"Thank you, Jawad."

The man replies in his own language, and Miller gains his composure enough to speak. 

"You-" He clears his throat, "You win Angolas first wet t-shirt contest!"

Miller breaks into raconous laughter, and Ocelot walks towards the truck. He opens the driver door and searches for the keys. He expected them to be in the window screen at least half hidden but instead they were already in the ignition. 

He starts the car and watches Miller's face go from amusement, to confusion, to realization. 

"Ocelot wait stop it was a joke!" 

Miller starts running full tilt to the car as Ocelot shifts into reverese and executes a text book three point turn. He can hear Jawad's laughter as Miller barely manages to scramble into the passenger seat. 

Miller buckles in and lets out a sigh of relief. Water drips out of Ocelots hair and onto his nose. 

"You know where to go?"

"Yes."

Miller nods and leans back in his seat, "Ok good. Wake me when we get there."

He promptly falls asleep. 

Ocelot can't help but smile. This was going to be a fun job.


	2. Origami Oryx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ocelot gets to new motherbase and is like getting a new cat that keeps knocking ur drink on the floor

When Ocelot pulls up the base he finds himself impressed; the compound was surrounded by a high concrete wall with patrolling guards. He could see a fortified gate at the main entrance, and the tops of a few square buildings- most likely bunkers. It had changed a lot since he last saw a photo of it.

He lets out a appreciative whistle, "Looks like you've been busy,"

He hears Miller sit up and muffle a yawn, "Yeah, had to get used to not being in the Ocean or jungle cover. Pull up to those gates,"

Ocelot nods and slowly drives up to the gate, putting the vehicle into park as Miller jumps out. 

"It's me! I have the new guy with me," Miller yells in Spanish to the approaching guards. The guards seem to relax a bit and casually salute as they make their way to the truck. 

Ocelot gives them a friendly smile, which they return with a nod before throughly searching the back of the vehicle. Shining their flash lights over any nook and cranny. 

"All good," One yells from the back, and Miller gives him a signal to drive. 

He puts the truck in forward and makes a mental note to tell Miller he can speak Spanish. He drives through the open gates, which are promptly locked behind him. Miller directs him to a line of trucks and armoured vehicles parked in a neat row and Ocelot pulls into the closest empty space. He hesitates before ejecting his tape and turning the truck off. 

"You're a bit crooked," Miller teases, kicking the tire of the truck. Ocelot throws him the keys, which Miller catches with surprising dexterity. 

"If its a problem I'm sure you can show me how its done,"

Miller does an odd half smile and shrugs, "I'll let it slide," He turns and waves his hand up and down. Ocelot follows, dutifully falling in step beside him. 

Miller tosses the keys to the guard that searched the truck. He misses the catch.

"Capybara, Ocelot. Ocelot, Capybara,"

Ocelot nods at the man and shakes his hand. He would be learning a lot of names in the next hour or so- he wanted to make a good impression. 

"I won't introduce you to everyone, but Capy there is the head of Base Security. He has all the keys and organizes the patrols. He knows about your...situation. If you need to leave he's the second person you go to,"

Ocelot tilts his head, "And who's the first?"

Miller does that small half smile again, and Ocelot feels a weird flutter in his stomach. 

"Me, of course,"

Miller continues the tour, pointing out the mess hall, bunks, armoury, showers, and back exit toward the shooting range. It's all very compact and brightly lit. 

"This...seems like a bit much." Ocelot says as he looks up at the soldiers patrolling the top of the wall.

"I've seen Boss get into places on much higher lockdown then this. It's good to be safe,"

Ocelot catches sight of a sniper on the roof of the armoury building, and wonders if safety concerns were slipping into paranoia. 

"Here's where our offices are-"

Ocelot perks up and looks at the one two story building in the compound. There's a steel staircase along with a walkway to the second floor doors. 

"The offices are on the second floor. They're split into four rooms. I have the one furthest from the steps, you get the other,"

Miller pulls a pair of keys on a pink key ring out of his pocket and holds it out to Ocelot.

"Where do I sleep?" Ocelot asks as he takes the keys.

"Oh, uh..." Miller frowns and taps his chin in thought, "Damn I forgot about that.."

Ocelot raises an eyebrow and Miller looks away in embarrassment. 

"Uh the ground floor is where I sleep. I'll have the second room cleared for you. Is that ok?"

Ocelot knew that Boss and Miller shared a sleeping space before Mother Base had been set up. He never dwelled on the extent of the situation, but he could assume he wouldn't be allowed the same pleasure.

"That's fine. Will I be bunking with you until then?" Ocelot asks, unable to keep the sly smile off his face. Figured he might as well push his luck.

Millers face turns bright red, "If you want. I guess it would be unprofessional to sleep in the common bunks," He sounds much more  calm and collected then he looks.

"That works for me. I'll take a look at the office then wash up. I don't know when you go to bed, but I'm still jet lagged."

Ocelot waves and makes his way upstairs, leaving Miller to blush by himself for a while. He unlocks the door, managing to use the correct key the first time, and steps into his new office. 

He flicks the light on to reveal a sparse room. A desk and two chairs stood in the middle, along with a filing cabinet and book shelf against the far wall. The one window had a drawn curtain and the room was surprisingly lacking in dust or stuffy smells. It takes him a moment to spot the door in the back corner of the room near the shared wall. 

He tries the handle and the door swings open to a barren room that's a mirrior image of his office but without furniture.  He wonders if he's allowed in this room too. It would come in handy for interrogations. 

He closes the door, noticing there's no lock on it. He would have to get that fixed. 

The next hour is spent searching the room for any bugs. Ocelot checks every drawer in the desk and filing cabinet for false bottoms. Then, he takes a screwdriver from his toolkit to dismantle the desk and chairs along with the shelf before deciding the furniture is safe. He then gently taps the concrete wall, listening for any hollow sounds. The walls were sturdy but sound would travel through them easily; he would have to soundproof them. Finally, he stands on his newly reconstructed desk and unscrews the lighting cover.

Ocelot lets out a small sigh- he was starting to get worries that he wouldn't find anything. Attached to the wall around the edge of the light was a listening device. He quickly dismantles it and returns the lighting cover to its usual place. A quick check of the second room nets him another bug.

He wasn't upset to find them, not really. He would have been unnerved to not find anything- by the looks of it these were installed recently, most likely the reason the compound cleaned the room so throughly. 

Ocelot leans against his desk and examines the collection of wires in his hands. He could destroy them and Miller would never bring it up again. No one would admit that the bugs they installed weren't working. Although something about that idea didn't feel right. Miller knew he was going to conduct his own business and has been surprisingly considerate in making arrangements and accommodations.

It would no doubt be a better move to show him the bugs and let him know what kind of business he was going to conduct here anyway. 

Ocelot leaves his office, locking it behind him and walks the short distance to the other office. There was a rusty metal sign on the door that said 'Its Miller Time' with a Miller Lite logo. It was cute. He knocks on the door firmly. 

"Come in," the muffled voice says. 

The place was tidy. Two simple chairs sat infront of the desk which was filled with neat stacks of paper. Behind the desk was a comfortable looking rolling chair. The walls had a few maps of the area tacked up with handwritten sticky notes and pictures. Miller was standing at a geographical map and adding a note to the small collection. 

"Oh, hows your office? Sorry its bare bones, send in an invoice for anything you need and I'll look into it," Miller said distractedly as he walks back to his desk to fish around for something in the loose stacks of papers. 

Ocelot strides forward before Miller moves away and sets the two wires down on the desk. Miller's hands still and he jerks his head up to look at him. His glasses slide down, and for the first time he can see Miller's eyes directly. 

There's so much rage in them.

Miller pushes his sunglasses up, and smiles like a man that can talk his way out of anything. 

"Guilty as charged. Sorry, but I can't be that trusting. This is my base,"

"Our base,"

"Don't go full red on me now," Miller shrugs and places his hands on his hips. He looks so relaxed that Ocelot wonders if what he saw in those eyes was real. 

"I ain't mad, I expected to find somethin'. Gotta say you hid em' pretty well. Last place I looked,"

"I was wondering what all that noise was,"

Ocelot nods, now he should get down to business. 

"Can we take a seat? I think its about time we talk,"

Miller gives him a quizzical look but sits nevertheless. 

"Do you know what I do?" Ocelot asks, looking down at Miller as the man leans back in his chair. 

"I know you're...a spy of sorts. For who, I don't know. You gather information," Miller replies with a shrug, "I'm kept very in the dark about you."

Miller does a good job of hiding his annoyance, Ocelot can give him that. 

"Well you're essentially right. I can't give you specifics, obviously," Ocelot smiles apologetically, "But for now I'm working with you and for you. I assure you anything I do on the side will not endanger your operation or any soldier on base,"

Miller looks away, a thoughtful expression on his face, "Your asking me to trust a spy?"

"I'm asking you to tolerate a spy,"

Miller laughs at that, it's soft and genuine. Then, he sighs and looks back up to Ocelot. 

"I can do that,"

"Good."

Miller gets to his feet and holds out his hand; Ocelot takes it. Unsurprisingly, Miller has a firm grip. 

"Is the back room also mine?" Ocelot asks innocently and he pulls his hand back.

"Yeah, I use mine for storage but you can use yours for whatever you want,"

Ocelot holds back a demonic smile. Miller would regret that.

"Would you mind if I retire to your room early? The jet lag is starting to catch up fast,"

"I was just about to do the same. I'll let you in,"

Ocelot looks at the map Miller was just making notes on, and raises his eyebrows. Miller doesn't respond to the silent question and holds the door open expectantly. Ocelot leaves, flipping the lights off on his way out. 

He looks up at the sky; the stars are very beautiful in the desert, stretching out as far as the heavens will allow. The full moon bathed the sands around their little concrete oasis in a hushed light, enough for him to make out a small heard of animals gathering in the distance. 

He turns to Miller, who had sidled up beside him to admire the landscape. He gently nudges the mans arm and points to said heard. 

"Those are Oryx. Locals call the Gemsbok, they survive in these arid deserts because they hold water incredibly well. Like camels,"

Miller pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and squints at the animals, "Huh, thought those were gazelles."

"Gazelles have smaller horns. Oryx are known to kill lions with theirs,"

Miller turns to face him, a quizzical look in his eyes. He gave a lot of emotions away with those baby blues, no wonder he hid them.

"Why do you know this?"

Ocelot shrugs, pushing himself away from the railing, "Good to know the flora and fauna of where I'm at."

Miller mutters something, and turns to the stairs. Ocelot follows behind him, starting to feel extra tired at the thought of a bed.

Miller unlocks the door and holds it open, "There's a bathroom in the back if you want to shower,"

Ocelot nods, and looks around the room. Theres a small bed pushed against the wall, along with a chest he assumes is full of clothing. The rest of the room is bare of any decoration, save for the fifteen filing cabinets pushed along the wall and a small cot in the opposite wall to Millers. Next to the cot was a inconspicuous cardboard box that he knew held spare clothing and the rest of his kit. He didn't expect it to arrive until tomorrow 

"Cozy," Ocelot comments, making his way to the box to dig out a fresh pair of clothing. He made sure to bring along desert camouflage fatigues for when he inevitably went off base, but decided to save those for then. Instead he grabs a change of shirt and heads towards the bathroom. 

"Thanks," Millers reply is muffled as Ocelot closes the bathroom door. There's no lock. 

He looks at shower, and strips his jacket and ammunition belts along with boots and spurs. He washes his face with from the sink and takes a very long and hot shower.

When he's done he opens the door to see Miller lounging on his bed with a book. He had changed into a black turtle neck and sweat pants. It was a nice look on him. Miller doesn't acknowledge him. 

Ocelot folds his fatigues and drops them in the box with the rest of his clothes. He kept his knife in his pocket and slips his gun under the pillow before laying down. 

 

\--

He wakes up the sound of a loud siren and garbled English. He rolls over and promptly goes back to half sleep for a few blissful minutes- he would get up later.

He's almost fully asleep when he feels a presence approaching. He bolts up, gun in hand and trains it on the blurry figures head. 

"Holy shit Ocelot, calm yourself- it's me, Miller." The figure says, stepping back quickly.

Ocelot squints, blinking sleep away from his eyes. Miller had his hands raised palms out, and looks incredibly annoyed. Ocelot lowers the gun and covers his mouth to yawn. 

"Sorry," Ocelot says dismissively, it was five AM and far too cold to be wearing a tank top. He lays back and pulls the covers over his head, muffling Millers snicker. 

"Breakfast is at 5:30. If you miss it you can find something to eat in the kitchens,"

Ocelot lets out grunt, and buries his face in his pillow. He was still tired. So fucking tired.   
He hears the door close quietly as he drifts away into blissful slumber. 

\--

"Ocelot are you ok? You've been out for almost seventeen hours?"

Ocelot cracks an eye open and tries not to glare at the sunglasses leaning over him. Sunlight was streaming from the small window over his cot and directly into his fucking eyes. 

"I'm fine," His voice comes out cracked and groggy. He clears his throat and sits up, causing his joints to crack, "What time is it?"

"Two PM on the dot."

Time flies in a jetlagged comatose. Thankfully he doesn't feel tired anymore, just hungry. With a yawn he rises from the cot and rolls his shoulders before starting to dress himself in another set of black fatigues. 

He glances over to see Miller watching him idly. He expected him to give him some privacy and turn around. Then again, Miller had a reputation. 

He slides his gun into the back holster with slight flurish and turns to face Miller as he drapes his scarf loosly over his neck. 

"You need somethin'?" Ocelot asks, sidestepping Miller towards the door. He hears the man take a breath to responde, but then he stops. 

"I'll tell you later."

Ocelot shrugs and opens the door. He had a lot of setting up to do in his office and interrogation room. No use convincing Miller to spill now if he would hear it later.

**Author's Note:**

> Two twinks on a roadtrip


End file.
